


19 Years Later

by LadySlytherin



Series: The Triwizard Tournament (writing contest) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's world, if Ginny Weasley had never been born. Not as crappy as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	19 Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> This was the second task of a writing-contest "Triwizard Tournament" in which I was a Champion. My First Task piece (Not Meant-To-Be) is also posted here and earned me a perfect score. The second piece (this one) was never judged because the admins abandoned the Tournament. -_- But I loved the pieces I wrote for it and I intend to complete and eventually post the third task as well, just because.
> 
> The specific instruction for the task was this: Rewrite the epilogue, without Ginny.
> 
> It was up to us if we wanted to kill her, have them divorced, have them never together, replace her with someone else, or have her not exist. I decided she wouldn't exist and this was what I decided could have happened, if Ginny Weasley had never been born.
> 
> Enjoy! <3
> 
> ~ Lady S.

Harry lay sleeping, curled up on his side, in a luxurious bed. The sheets were black satin that slid like cool water across his skin. The duvet was emerald green shot through with silver and was heavy and warm and soft. Harry stretched, waking slowly, and blinked open his eyes. He yawned, stretching again, and then kicked the blanket and sheet off. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the canopy and reveling in the feel of satin under his back. He was nude and comfortable in his own skin, though part of that came from the fact that he was alone in the room.

 

Harry Potter was just past his 37th birthday. The room he was in was at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; it was the same room he slept in every time he visited. Which was, usually, once a year for a few days, just at the start of term. Like now. Term had begun two days earlier and Harry was pleased to be lying here, in this bed, at – he cast a quick Tempus charm – 10AM. He thought back to the first time he’d woken up at Hogwarts, 26 years earlier. Then, he’d been sharing a dorm with 4 other boys. One of them had been his best friend, Ron Weasley – the youngest of 6 children, all boys.

 

Their first year they had beaten Voldemort to the Philosopher’s Stone, with the help of another friend; a clever Muggleborn witch named Hermione Granger. Their second year…well, they had not been quite so lucky. Someone had opened the Chamber of Secrets and Hermione – along with several other students, a cat, and a ghost – had ended up petrified. Then, at the end of the year, someone had been taken into the Chamber. A Chamber Harry hadn’t managed to find. Ron. Harry had, in a single year, lost both his best friends and his home. Albus Dumbledore had had no choice but to close the school.

 

And Harry, having no way to use magic as a nearly-13 year old, and with his Aunt and Uncle refusing to allow him to come home, had struck out on his own. He had made a trip to Gringotts to transfer his funds into Muggle money and disappeared into Muggle London. He rented a tiny apartment in a run-down neighborhood and left the contact information with the goblins at the bank, telling them to send someone for him if Hogwarts ever reopened.

 

Harry rolled back onto his side, looking out the window across the room. He could see just a glimpse of sunlight on the water of the lake, if he tipped his head just right. He had missed Hogwarts so dearly when he’d left. It had been nearly unbearable.

 

He’d not bothered trying to enroll in Muggle school – he had no papers of identification, after all. So he raked leaves and shoveled snow and mowed lawns. He helped his neighbors move furniture and cleaned for them and watched their children when they needed a sitter. The people who lived in his building were all sympathetic to the young boy, all on his own, with the face of an angel and emerald eyes full of pain and sorrow and loss. So they looked out for him and paid him for odd jobs and Harry did his best to be happy. And he never, ever looked in the trunk containing his old school things or took out his wand or sent letters with Hedwig. It hurt too much.

 

Harry dragged his fingers over the satin pillowcase beneath his head, pondering the odd twist his life had taken when he’d turned 15. A knock had sounded on his door and Harry – up to his elbows in dishwater and assuming it was a neighbor – had called out for them to come in. He did not know the man who’d entered. Harry had turned and stared, raking the man from head to toe with a speculative gaze.

 

His hair was black, his face handsome with piercing grey-green eyes, and he appeared to be in his early twenties. He was tall and slender, with alabaster-white skin and long, elegant hands. In his right hand he held a wand. He was clad in black Wizarding robes and his feet were encased in black dragon-hide boots. And Harry’s heart had pounded in his chest, because he was a wizard. And when he’d told Harry to come with him because Hogwarts was reopening, Harry had gone gladly.

 

They’d gone outside – Harry pausing only long enough to tell Hedwig to meet him at Hogwarts and to grab his wand since the man said his trunk would be picked up – and the man had pointed his wand at the sky. “Morsmordre.”

 

Harry had stared in stunned silence at the glittering skull and serpent in the sky above his apartment building, but before he could speak the man had made a sharp gesture with his wand and a triple-decker purple bus had appeared. Once on the bus, Harry had found his voice long enough to ask his name and what was going on.

 

“I’m Tom Riddle.” The man had said. During the trip to Hogwarts he’d explained that he was heading the Wizarding government – the Ministry of Magic – and had decided it was time to reopen Hogwarts. He told Harry that there were new laws in place, to protect the magical community; that the International Statute of Secrecy had been expanded. And Harry, in his innocence, did not question why – if the Secrecy Laws were now so strict – Tom had cast such an obvious spell as the glittering skull in the Muggle area Harry had called home.

 

Harry rubbed his eyes in a tired fashion, recalling his own stupidity. His eagerness to protect the magical world from harm had made it so easy to deceive him. He had believed Tom’s propaganda; that magical children needed to be raised by magical families and should be taken at birth from Muggle homes for the safety of everyone. Harry had even been eager to gain a new, magical family. Which was when Tom had told him that he, Harry Potter, would not be attending Hogwarts. He, Harry Potter, was too special for that. He would stay with Tom and Tom would teach him everything. They were just going to stop at Hogwarts to greet the children.

 

Harry sprawled on his back again, stretching once more. He had a kink in his back…it was distracting. He stared up at the canopy above him, horrified at his own behavior. He had foolishly trusted Tom; he had gone with the man to his home and learned from him for a full year. Then, once at Hogwarts again – to greet all the new students – Tom has asked him to remain in his room unless being escorted around. He was so special; he had to be kept safe. And Harry had listened, until the day Neville Longbottom had come to see him and told him the truth.

 

That Ron Weasley’s body had never been found. That Albus Dumbledore had been murdered the day after Hogwarts closed. That Hermione Granger and the others had all remained petrified – and still were. They were placed in glass coffins, on display, in alcoves in the Entry Hall. Harry had not walked into the school; he’d fallen asleep on the way there and awoken in his room.  He had been forbidden from wandering the school alone. He took his meals in his room. All so he wouldn’t see; wouldn’t learn the truth. The bodies, Neville explained, were a warning to those who dared defy the Dark Lord. Voldemort. _Tom Riddle_.

 

Harry had been physically ill. He thought now about Hermione again. His incredibly clever friend, forever 12 in her petrified state. Never aging…never facing the harsh reality of what their world had become. Locked in a glass coffin, like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. Only in this twisted fairytale, there was no prince coming to kiss her awake. She had remained as she was for so many years…and she’d probably remain that way forever. No one defied Tom. Harry had learned that the hard way.

 

His green eyes stared blankly up; he was lost in thought, remembering what had brought him to where he was now.

 

For over 5 months, Tom had tried to break him. Harry had been defiant, angry, and stubborn.  So Tom had beaten him, cursed him, and starved him. He had locked him in a room at the Manor he lived in and visited every few days to see if Harry would cooperate. Harry never did; he was too horrified by what had happened to their world while he was blissfully ignorant.

 

And then, one morning a few months before he turned 16, Harry had woken feeling odd. The bed beneath his body had been plush and lovely and he’d been surrounded by heat and strength. Lips had pressed to his, a tongue teasing its way into his mouth. Harry – still more asleep than awake – had allowed the intrusion. Gentle hands had moved over his skin, leaving a trail of blazing desire in their wake. Harry had arched upwards, a gasp falling from his lips, and opened his eyes to see the smirking face of Tom.

 

Before he could protest, scream, or deny this reality he had awoken into, Tom had silenced him with another kiss. His hands had moved lower, fingertips dragging over the firm, trembling muscles of Harry’s stomach. Harry had let out a high, keening sound of desperate need when those talented fingers moved lower still, Tom’s lips and tongue moving to taste his neck. Despite the revulsion clawing at his insides, Harry had submitted to Tom. His brain had given in to his body’s demands and he had greedily soaked up the pleasure he was offered.

 

He had opened to Tom’s tongue, sucking it greedily into his mouth. His fingers had tangled in Tom’s hair then he’d dragged his short, blunt nails down Tom’s back. Harry had arched up into his hands, begging for _more…please, yes..._ and Tom had given it to him. Harry had reveled in kisses, touches, and the – _oh-Salazar-so-good –_ burning stretch of being taken. He had pleaded with hands and movements and even words – _faster …more…yes, there…harder…please…Tom, yes –_ for everything and anything the Dark Lord was willing to give. He had wanted it all and Tom had obliged.

 

Hours later Tom had left his bed, dressed with care, pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, and left the room with the promise to return with food. Harry had curled up on his side, hung his head over the edge of the bed, and been violently ill. He had allowed the man who had murdered his parents to touch him, kiss him, be _inside_ him. When Tom had returned, Harry had rebelled again. He had raged and screamed and thrown things. He had bitten, scratched, hit, and kicked.

 

And Tom had subdued him with pleasure and desire and need.

 

Harry blinked slowly and realized he had closed his eyes for a moment there, lost in remembering that time so long before. He sighed softly, dragging a hand through his hair. For two years, Harry had fought against Tom’s advances. For two years, he would submit and give in only to be overcome with guilt and shame and begin fighting again. For two long, tiresome years Tom had pursued their physical relationship with a single-minded determination that had baffled and amazed Harry. And, after two long years, Harry had given in.

 

Then, with Harry by his side, Voldemort had taken over the world. The entire Wizarding World now bowed to his Tom; to the man who was both murderer and lover. Harry felt a funny little pang in his chest; perhaps he should visit Hermione. He felt it might be time. It had been 19 years since he’d given in, after all; surely he should go and tell his best friend about it now.

 

The door to his room opened and Harry flushed bright red; he was still naked after all. Tom lounged in the doorway, crossing his feet at the ankle and resting his shoulder against the doorjamb. He barely looked older than he had the day he’d come for Harry and Harry looked only a year or two younger than Tom. No one would ever guess there was over 50 years age difference between them. Harry struggled gracelessly to his feet, dragging one of the black satin sheets along with him as he stood and wrapping it awkwardly around himself like a toga.

 

Tom chuckled, his grey-green eyes dragging lazily over Harry. They were soft and warm, as they always were when he looked at his lover. “Don’t be so shy, Harry.” He purred. “You’re gorgeous.”

 

“I’m not.” Harry protested, feeling his cheeks heat further at the unwarranted compliment. “I’m fat and klutzy and ugh.” He made a face and rested his hands on the huge curve of his belly, letting the sheet slip from his grip and pool at his feet like ink.

 

Tom’s gaze turned predatory and he crossed the room gracefully. He laid his hands on Harry’s large stomach and pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead. “You are not fat, Harry. You are pregnant. With the prince or princess of our world, to be precise. You are _beautiful_.”

 

Harry smiled wickedly up at Tom. “Oh? If I’m so beautiful…” He licked his bottom lip seductively. “Prove it.” He whispered.

 

Tom leaned down with a growl and captured Harry’s lips in a passionate, possessive kiss. His tongue traced every inch of Harry’s mouth and he pressed himself as close to Harry as his lover’s swollen belly would allow. The kiss was cut off as the baby inside Harry moved; both men felt it and sighed in resignation. With one last, breath-stealing kiss Tom pulled back. He moved his hands tenderly across Harry’s stomach, feeling his child kick against the skin.

 

“I’m guessing he’s hungry.” Tom said, amusement sparkling in his eyes as he took in Harry’s disgruntled expression. “After breakfast, I’ll finish proving how sexy you still are.”

 

“You’d better.” Harry said with a pout; he wanted food too, of course, but he wanted Tom more. He _always_ wanted Tom more.

 

Tom helped him dress in blue maternity robes and tied his shoes for him, then they began the trek down to the Great Hall. The students loved meeting Harry Potter at the start of the term, though they eyed his cruel lover with well-deserved fear. Harry had a way with children.

 

When they reached the Entrance Hall, Harry stopped. Tom turned to look at him, confused, and Harry said. “I’ll be in, Tom. Just give me 5 minutes. I…” He glanced towards one of the alcoves and said in a hesitant voice. “I’d like to visit Hermione.”

 

Tom was surprised. Though Harry sometimes mentioned Hermione Granger, he had never before gone to see her body. “I’ll see you in 10 minutes.” He said softly, pressing a tender kiss to Harry’s lips. “I’ll make sure there’s no sunny-side up eggs near your seat at the table, okay? No throwing up today.”

 

Harry nodded and left his lover’s side, smiling softly at the fact that Tom had granted him permission for twice the amount of time he’d asked for. Not that it mattered, per say. Harry could take 2 hours to come to the table and all Tom would do was admonish him for not taking better care of himself. Harry went into the alcove that held Hermione and stood beside the coffin. Then, with trembling fingers, he released the latch and raised the lid. Hermione lay perfectly still; she did not blink or breathe or anything. Yet Harry knew she wasn’t dead. She could, in fact, be revived at any time with a simple potion. He reached into the coffin, touching her hand gently. Tom would never let him wake her up; he had asked many times and always been denied.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner.” Harry told her softly; the clever girl who had been his friend for such a short time so very long ago looked just as he had remembered her. “There’s so much that’s happened and I should have come but I didn’t know what to say. How to explain. How to make you understand why I chose what I’ve chosen.”

 

He brushed his fingers over Hermione’s cheek; her skin was warm and supple and it seemed unnatural, somehow, given how still she was and her unblinking chocolate-brown eyes. “I’m pregnant, you know, Hermione. Over 7 months along. This baby is the heir to everything; to the whole world. I helped Tom take over, you see.” He swallowed hard, his fingers still lovingly tracing Hermione’s face. “Tom is Voldemort, you know.”

 

Harry moved his hand back, suddenly feeling it was wrong to touch her with hands that had caressed Tom’s skin with passion and affection. “I…he’s not as crazy as he used to be.” He chuckled softly, rolling his eyes, and added ruefully. “That sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. It has something to do with his soul and how much of it is in his body and these strange things called Horcruxes and I’m sure if you could you’d ask me a few dozen questions that I don’t know the answers to because, to be honest, I don’t really understand it myself even though Tom’s explained it tons of times and…” Harry paused for a moment, then added softly. “And you were always the clever one, not me. I’m sure _you_ would understand.”

 

“It’s all so crazy now, because I helped.” He told her, not feeling guilty for once. He somehow knew that, if he could just finish explaining it to Hermione, he would never feel guilty again. “He had already taken the UK and most of Europe when I gave in. So we took the rest of Europe and then Africa and Asia were next. Then we took Australia and then South America. We took North America last.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “We took the whole world together, Hermione, and isn’t that insane?”

 

He looked down at her, eternally young, and realized Tom was right to let her be this way. “I don’t think you’d like this world very much.” He told her softly. “There are rules and guidelines you’d hate, because you’re Muggleborn and they’re designed for you. And you wouldn’t even give me a chance to explain it all, because you’re stubborn and smart and determined and I’m not the boy you became friends with back then. Not anymore.”

 

Harry’s hands clenched into fists and his words poured out in a rush. “Ron died and you were like this and the school closed and the whole world just fell apart around me. And then Tom put it back together again, but it was different and the pieces fit the wrong way and the picture was strange but it _worked_ and so I gave in and stopped fighting.” He brushed his fingers over the swell of his stomach and added in a whisper. “And the strangest part, Hermione? The strangest part about this whole thing is that it’s all _okay._ ”

 

“I mean that, too.” He reached out to touch her cheek again, very lightly. “It’s strange and different and you would hate it if you had to live here, but it’s all okay, because…”

 

Harry took a deep breath and then finally spoke the words he’d been holding in for 19 years; ever since he’d given in to Tom and stood by his side as Consort for the first time. “Because I love him, Hermione. I wouldn’t have done any of this otherwise. But I thought you deserved to know. I love him.”

 

He pressed a kiss to two of his fingers then touched those same fingers lightly to Hermione’s mouth. He sighed and gently closed the lid to her coffin and latched it shut, then turned and walked out of the alcove. He was hungry and so was his unborn child; the heir of Lord Voldemort. He would join Tom – his lover, his ruler, his captor – for breakfast and then for the quick tumble he’d been promised. And he would finally tell Tom the words he’d just told Hermione; after 19 years, he would finally tell Tom why he had stopped fighting him. Harry Potter would use the soft, sweet moments after making love to the Dark Lord to tell the man, who’d murdered his parents and his best friend and countless others, that he loved him – and had for 19 years.

 

And though it might not seem like it at first glance, look close enough and you’ll see the truth; ‘ _All was well_.’


End file.
